Coming Back Around To Us
by Helen8462
Summary: In the wake of a traumatic event, Kathryn and Chakotay are forced to address their priorities and find a way to move forward, together. (J/C)


_**A/N:** This is a prequel to "What Happens Next" and is another part of the puzzle that is the Counterpoint Vignettes AU series (which I highly recommend), though it can also be read as a standalone. _

_This story takes place twelve years after Voyager's initial return from the Delta Quadrant._

 _For Nerdyfangirl74656 who so kindly prompted me with the quote below._

 _As always, my thanks are to MiaCooper who betas these heaps of words I keep sending her with kindness and skill._

* * *

 _"I'm restless. Things are calling me away, my hair is being pulled by the stars again."  
-Anais Nin_

* * *

It is a bright, sunny day in May when the doctors finally see fit to release her from the hospital. And not a moment too soon as far as she's concerned. She's had enough of beds that lift, horrible food and harsh artificial lighting to last her a lifetime.

He's wheeling his suitcase behind him, supporting her on his arm as they leave the drab building. She hadn't realized how the smell of antiseptic had permeated every pore in her body until they're outside. She longs to take a real bath and rid herself of the odor that has soaked into her hair. But, she can't imagine how she will maneuver into a tub and resigns herself to a quick shower as soon as humanly possible.

For being only a few kilometers away, the ride home seems excruciatingly long. Halfway there, he starts to wish that he had argued harder for them to be beamed into their living room.

But then, she always was one to do things the hard way.

He assists her up the three steps into their apartment building. Then, she's braced between him and the side of the lift, moaning softly, breathing heavily with her eyes clenched shut. He's seriously concerned that he's going to be taking her back to see a doctor before the day is through.

Mercifully, her pain abates and her breathing returns to normal once she's seated in a chair. While she attempts to find a comfortable position, he mills about doing random things. He gets her a glass of water and a blanket, attends to the padds that have been piling up and empties his suitcase. But secretly he's watching her every movement. When he's sure that she's going to be alright, he realizes that there is something he simply must attend to.

"I have to go to the market," he says, taking to a knee next to her chair. "We have no food at all."

Despite how hard it will be to pull himself away, he refuses to allow her to recuperate on replicated meals.

She nods. "Were you here even once in the last…." And then she can't remember how long it's been.

"Only a couple of times," he admits. Then he lifts his chin a bit and allows a cleansing breath. "It's good to be home."

She is tired, but she smiles too. She can imagine that he had thought far too often about how he might return to this apartment without her and it breaks her heart. Weakly, she lifts her hand and he takes it in his own and kisses her. Then he strokes his other hand across her cheek.

"I want to stay here with you, but if I sit down for too long I won't want to get back up, so I'm going to go now."

"Yes."

"Get some rest, I won't be long." He takes a commbadge from his pocket and pins it to her shirt. "If you need anything, I'm only five minutes away." He places a gentle kiss on her cheek as she leans into him.

"I'll be fine. I'm just going to sit here."

And then he is gone. Tearing himself away from her is incomprehensibly difficult. It will be the longest he has been away from her since…. Stasis. Surgeries. No hope.

His rush to the market is destined to be far more frantic and laced through with anxiety than the simple task should be. But he will manage.

She watches him descend the steps from their building and walk briskly down the sidewalk. For a while after that she simply looks out the window at the sky. Through heavy eyelids she regards every cloud as it meanders by. She appreciates the sound of the birds and the wind through the leaves in the park across the street - grateful that he thought to leave the window open. Then, she dozes a bit.

The same dream that she's been having for the last month begins again. She's floating, not of her own body but hovering in dark space. Stars twinkle around her and she's collecting them in a bag – points of light peek through the canvas. She feels free.

When she wakes he is home, putting foodstuffs away in the pantry. She need only change her breathing and he is again at her side.

"How long were you gone?" she asks in a voice still not yet awake.

"About an hour, did you do okay?"

She nods. "It's so good to see the sky again."

He takes a moment and gazes out with her. "It's been too long."

"How was the market?" she asks, and deep inside she is jealous that he just did something so normal.

"I got enough food to feed everyone on Voyager." Saying the name is reflexively ordinary but the surge of bile it brings up is not. He chokes it back. "What would you like for lunch?"

"Something easy."

"I'll make soup. And you'll eat some, yes?"

She nods then turns her head back to the window. He watches her for a few seconds. "I miss it," she says.

"I know." He puts a gentle hand on her arm and she instinctively puts hers over his.

"How long did the doctor say?" she asks, not removing her gaze from the sky.

"Another month at least Kathryn. You need to gain weight and rest before you'll be strong enough to travel."

"I don't want to travel, Chakotay. I just want to see the stars again."

He kisses the top of her head. "Tonight," he says. "We'll sit out on the balcony and look at the stars all night if you want."

"I'd like that very much," her voice says. But in her heart she's thinking "it will have to do."

* * *

The next day she has a rare spurt of energy which she attributes to finally having had a decent night's sleep. While he is outside tending to the potted plants - of which half have grown wild and half have died - she hobbles into their bedroom and opens her closet. Hanging like a sentry of soldiers are her uniforms. They are crisp and clean and exactly as she left them. She doesn't know what became of the one she was wearing when she went down, surely it must have been bloodied beyond repair and recycled.

She selects a hanger, removes the jacket and carefully threads it on her right arm, then her left. It feels oddly stiff and constricting despite being at least three sizes too large for the weight she has lost. It reminds her of something she wore a lifetime ago and not at all as familiar as the hospital gowns or the tee-shirt and slacks she wears now. She makes her way to the mirror and sees that the garment hangs like a shroud on a skeleton. She closes her eyes, hoping that if she doesn't have to look at herself the prickling sensation in the back of her throat will go away.

Her breath steady, she addresses the mirror once again. "I'll just have to eat more soup," she says with as much resolve as she can muster. Then, lacking the energy to rehang the jacket, she leaves it on the bed and sits herself carefully into a nearby chair to rest.

* * *

On the third day at home he ducks into their shared office and approaches the small workbench he has set up at the back of the room. Paperwork, in the form of padds, have spilled from his desk and now also take up most of the benchtop. It's been two months since he has so much as glanced at anything with a Starfleet insignia on it – this is where he had thrown them all - and he's not quite ready to address them yet, so he stacks them neatly on the floor. Then he sets up his tools.

From his pocket he takes a small bag – grey plastic with a sealed top. He considers it a moment, remembering all too well what the contents will look like - how could he ever forget. And even though he'd rather not be reminded, she needs it back. So he pulls apart the closure and dumps the contents onto his bench.

Dented, mangled, abraded gold. Smeared with blood.

It is almost completely smashed flat, exactly how they transported it off of her finger.

He cleans the surface carefully with an alcohol swab. Then, holding onto it with a pair of tongs he warms it over a low flame. Mandrel in a gloved hand, he slowly, painstakingly works the metal back into its former, round shape. It takes him over an hour. Such a repair must be done slowly he knows or he risks overheating and completely destroying the original design. By the time he is done, his hands are shaking and he's sweating from the gradual rise in temperature. He is satisfied with the job just about the time she begins to stir in the other room.

After he prepares their dinner he will see to buffing out the scratches. And then later, when she is resting, he will go to the jeweler and select a delicate chain.

* * *

With each passing day she grows stronger and is able to stay awake, and be marginally productive, longer - an hour at a time at first, then two and three. After two weeks she's up for five whole hours before she needs to lie down. With each passing day there is a change in him as well. The spring in his step has slowly returned, his dimpled smile emerges more freely. He no longer has to force himself to breathe through the panic when he leaves to go to the market. And, though he's loathe to acknowledge the events that lead them to this place, he is all too happy to have her to himself. Despite her physical limitations, it is a freeness they haven't experienced since they first returned to Earth all those years ago.

But she's getting restless. Save for a handful of short walks around the block – and a daily, albeit slow trek to the park across the street – she has been a prisoner in their home. The only other distraction she has is a physical therapist who comes every day for two hours, but he's a strange young man and makes for no good conversation at all. Deep down she hates him just a little for not understanding how she got into this condition. He makes her feel as if it's her fault she's been broken as he works her muscles and checks the integrity of her grafted bones.

As for Chakotay, her system may still be laced with painkillers but she can perceive the change in him clear as day. This event has aged him, body and soul. She doesn't see as much of the fire in his eyes as she used to as she notes the extra creases in his brow. He looks at her differently too, like if he touches her or says the wrong thing that she's going to break. He hides it all behind smiles and teasing and kindness, but she knows him too well. Something is off.

She wonders just what it was like for him, sitting there, day in and day out holding her hand, hoping and praying and blaming himself. She wonders if it was anything like all of the other times he has sat waiting for her in the past - after assimilations and shuttle accidents and timelines gone wrong. She wonders, but she doesn't really want to know. Which is why they haven't spoken much about anything real since she's come home.

So, instead, she eats her soup and reads the sports scores and makes small talk. She does these things because she knows, in due time, they will get her back to the stars. And get them back to normal.

* * *

The first time they make love, it hurts her.

She is all too happy to be fully encompassed once again by his strong arms, but the act is far from comfortable. By the time they are done, she is sore and exhausted, trembling with an equal mix of pain and pleasurable release.

The way that the surgeon sought to reconstruct her pelvis and lumbar spine doesn't lend itself to lying on the bed being pushed down upon, so they had settled like spoons instead. His strong frame gave her support while they rocked slowly and caressed. He traced the lines of her bones still protruding further than he would like on her slender frame. The tingling sensation of his touch on her scars – both old and new – is a strange mix of unsettling and incredibly intimate.

She begins to feel alive again.

She is asleep before long. He leaves her there, peacefully resting. Her golden ring, still too large to fit on her underweight finger, dangles from the chain around her neck. It lies on her chest, twinkling reflected sunlight with the movement from each breath.

He, on the other hand, finds himself in the living room, naked save for his boxers, squeezing the life out of a pillow while uncontrolled tears stream down his cheeks. The compression of the stress of the last months, combined with their emotional, long-awaited intimacy, has finally hit its limit. He is no longer able to hold emotions inside, but he won't let her see. Exhausted, he slumps to sleep on the couch.

While she dreams of catching stars in a canvas purse, his nightmares are of much darker things.

It always starts with hearing a scream in the distance, then he knows it's being issued from his own lungs. It is the result of seeing her pinned to the floor - a header-beam across her torso. The stone-dead glassiness in her eyes registers as pure, unadulterated panic.

Shouts and klaxons and smoke round out the experience.

And then he's awake and gasping for breath. The sudden stealing of air moves dust illuminated in sunlight.

* * *

"You didn't tell me," she says softly when he enters the kitchen. This particular morning marks the start of her third week at home. She's watching the news while sipping her coffee, waiting for him to join her for their morning walk. He catches the tail end of the report over her shoulder. She turns off the monitor and turns slightly in her chair.

"You didn't ask."

"Was Voyager really in that bad shape?"

He nods sadly. "She's an old ship Kathryn. She's been through more than the rest of the Delta fleet combined. It was inevitable."

"The reporter says they are beginning to dismantle her at Utopia."

"I'm not sure of the details," he replies. It's the truth, he hasn't followed anything at all since they returned home. "But I'll find out."

Unsure of what to do next, he moves to leave.

"Wait," she says. If the topic has come up, she might as well know the whole horrible story. "How many, Chakotay? How many people did we lose in that battle?"

His back is still to her and he closes his eyes. He's shamefully unsure of the final count, only concerned that it didn't end up plus one - but he has a good idea. "Sixteen from Voyager. Last I checked. And two, I think, on the Sagan." He can see the sorrow in her eyes and he wants to make it better. "They all did their jobs admirably, Kathryn. We protected that convoy until backup arrived. We saved three-thousand lives." The phrase rolls easy off of his tongue by virtue of having repeated it to himself over and over again.

"Sixteen," she echoes back like a ghost. And then, she has to ask, not that it should matter but she has to know. "Were any of them from our original crew?"

"Nicoletti," he says with sadness. "She was in engineering. She was trapped behind the blast doors when the constrictors overloaded."

She closes her eyes and imagines what Susan's last moments would have been like. Was she clawing at the door to get out or cowered under a console praying? Or mercifully, maybe she was already unconscious. Kathryn nods solemnly.

"I'd like to see the report, when you have a chance."

He agrees to find it for her and then takes his leave.

Another set of names. She will read every one and add them to the list she has memorized. But after this, there will be no more. These souls will be the last to perish on Voyager. For that, at least, she is grateful.

* * *

As timing would have it, the containers with their personal belongings arrive the next day. She is sitting on the balcony enjoying the warm morning air and breakfast when a green, young ensign arrives with the request-to-transport forms. Chakotay's not sure where to have them beamed to, their apartment isn't very large, so he pushes the coffee table against the wall and waits for them to materialize.

Black containers stack almost to the ceiling in three towers. He's honestly surprised at what was salvaged. But, there were paintings and pictures and sculptures and blankets, clothing and other random personal effects. All of those things take up more room than he expected.

He begins rooting through them, they almost all harbor some degree of soot, especially the ones with the belongings from his ready room. In the third container he finds what he was searching for, his medicine bundle. He lifts it reverently and holds its familiar weight in his hands. He has missed it, he realizes. And he will most certainly meditate with it later.

The look on her face when she returns from outside is surprise, to say the least.

"Looks like we've had a delivery," she remarks.

"Just a small one." He dusts the ash from his pants.

She puts down her dishes and goes for the closest bin. It pops open and inside she finds neatly folded uniforms. She rolls her eyes. "Like I need more of these," she says, holding one up.

"You'll be wearing them again soon," he reassures.

"Will I? Will you?" She closes the bin and sits on the couch. "It might be a long time before they put us back out there, in active duty."

"It might be," he says, secretly hoping that day never comes. All he really knows is that he doesn't want to go back to that place where she could end up injured and dying once again.

"I assumed we'd be returning to Voyager. But if she's being decommissioned…."

He closes the other containers and sits next to her. "Do you even feel up to breaking in another ship?"

She laughs. "Is that what we did to Voyager? Break her in? God, most days it felt like she broke us." She rubs her forehead. "I spent the best years of my life on that ship, Chakotay. It certainly will be different -"

"The best years, huh?" he interrupts with a sly smile. "And which years of those would rank among the best of the best?" His arm winds its way around her shoulder and she leans into him.

"The first seven," she replies dryly. "When I didn't have to live with a boy."

The clarity of his laugh is the best thing she's heard all week.

* * *

Their walks around the park have increased slightly in pace and now they've added a detour which conveniently swings by her favorite café. As they rest a bit, he chooses carefully just the right moment to revisit a topic he adeptly avoided the day before – the one he can't get out of his mind. The one where she wants a new ship. The one where she wants to leave and die again. He looks down at his drink. He is just about to…. the words are on the tip of his tongue….

"I want to steal a shuttle and take it for a spin," she says. And she sets her coffee mug down with a decisive thud.

So much for what he wanted to discuss.

He clears his throat nervously of the topic that has died there. "You want to what?"

"I want to see the stars, up close," she imparts, then she sees his concern. "Not really _steal_ , Chakotay. We'll sign one out of the Academy's fleet and take Alpha loop around the systems. If you're nervous about getting lost, you can just follow the cadets," she teases.

He's about to object, about to say that she might not be up for such a trip yet, but he makes the mistake of looking at her first. The healthy glow has returned to her skin. She's leaned back comfortably, no pain evident on her face. He suspects that her ring is only days away from fitting properly again. Life is coming around to normal whether he likes it or not.

"Okay," he agrees, hoping that small steps back to where he knows she will ultimately drag him will make this a little easier to handle. "When?"

She grins wide, grabs his hand and says, "Now!"

And they're off.

* * *

After four weeks, the physical therapist clears her for light duty. She doesn't know what that means exactly, but she's pretty sure it's not synonymous with going back on a ship any time soon. Still, she's grateful that now she can investigate possibilities for their return to duty at headquarters instead of just in her mind.

She finds herself in front of her closet again, shaking her head. Her uniform fits fairly well now, but not well enough, so she comms for a courier to deliver another. At least, she reminds herself, her ring has made its way back onto her finger where it belongs.

"How's it feel?" he asks, coming up behind her.

She shrugs. "Same as always I guess." He puts a hand around the back of her neck to help her pull her hair from the collar of her shirt.

"You're going into the office?"

"I have a meeting with Admiral Palpine."

"That sounds like fun, are you sure you're up for it?"

She straightens her jacket. "No, but duty calls. I've got to lay some plans for where we'll be going next." Then she turns to face him. "Speaking of which, aren't you due to be somewhere by now?"

He shakes his head. "I took an extended leave of absence."

"How extended?" she asks, only mildly concerned that she hadn't yet thought to question him.

"Yet to be determined."

She's about to prod him further about his intentions when the door chime rings. "That's your ride," he says. Before she can walk away he puts his arms around her waist. She giggles a bit and throws her head back. "Something I can do for you?" she asks playfully.

"Always," he whispers in her ear. Then he lays a gentle kiss on her cheek. "Don't overdo it today, okay?"

She nods and he releases her. "I'll check in at least twice and I'll be home by seventeen hundred hours, I promise." She all but forgets the absurdity of an admiral reporting to a captain in favor of being grateful that he is concerned.

"Fifteen hundred," he says.

"Sixteen," she counters with a raised eyebrow. He considers her offer with an audible "hmm…" and then finally extends his hand.

They shake on it and kiss and she's on her way.

"Be sure you eat lunch," he says to the empty apartment. "And don't be in too much of a hurry…. Please?"

* * *

When she hobbles through the door on the arm of an ensign escort at eighteen-thirty hours, he's less than amused. Mercifully, he waits until the officer is gone before he chides her.

"You overdid it, didn't you?"

She nods her head and gladly takes his arm to support her weight as she drags her left foot on the way to the couch. "A tad."

"You look very sore."

"Too much sitting in those horrible chairs and too much walking."

"Didn't you take a hovercar?"

"Yes. But Jonah saw fit to parade me around to everyone he could think of. And then we did a loop of the gardens…. You know what. I'm too tired to talk about it."

He props a pillow behind her waiting back and helps her put her feet up on the ottoman. Then he presses a cool hypospray to her neck.

"Please tell me you're not going back there tomorrow." His words are punctuated with a pain-relieving hiss.

"Thank you." She shakes her head and rubs her neck instinctively. "And no, I'm not. You are."

"What?"

"Palpine wants to see you at oh-eight hundred."

"Why?"

Her eyes are drifting closed but she keeps up the conversation. "He wants to know your plans."

"I don't know my plans."

"Well don't look at me," she says, head reclined back, eyes still closed. "But you'd better think about them before tomorrow."

He runs his hands through his hair and then leaves her to rest.

* * *

He returns from his meeting with Palpine looking more exhausted than she had the day before. He is grateful to see that she is on the balcony and ducks into their bathroom to splash water on his face.

He can hardly believe it, though it shouldn't have been too much of a surprise. He's been offered a new command – a state-of-the-art science vessel named La Recherche. She's not finished yet, but he's been ordered to take a tour and a week to decide. As if he needs a week to flat-out say no.

"You're back," she says, coming into their bedroom for her book. "How'd it go?"

He wipes his face in a towel and then suddenly wants only to get out of his uniform.

"They want to give me another ship."

A broad smile comes across her face at the reveal of the secret she's been keeping. "I know, exciting isn't it?"

All he can do is stare back at her in disbelief. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise. He showed you the images, right? Isn't she gorgeous?"

"She's….something."

"She's state-of-the-art, a whole new class. Did you get a list of the science labs? They're unmatched."

His sour mood begins to turn up slightly at her enthusiasm while his worry about ultimately saying 'no' intensifies. "You think I should accept then?"

She's taken aback. "Of course I do," she says incredulously. "It's a brand new ship, Chakotay. Made for studying every nook and cranny of the DQ. We won't get a better offer. You're going to take her, aren't you?"

He swallows, looks at the sparkle in her eye and says, "Yes. Yes of course. I just wanted to make sure it met with your approval."

She comes up behind him, puts her arms around his waist and hugs him tightly. "I can't wait to take a tour of our new home, Chakotay. Just think, pretty soon we'll be back out in the stars together. Right where we belong."

* * *

Something has changed in the atmosphere of their apartment. She's not quite sure why, but there is a weight pressing down on both of them, lingering in the air between words and missing from his touch as he withdraws throughout the rest of the day and into the next.

When she returns from her walk – the first one he has declined to take with her - she goes into their bedroom and watches from the corner as he packs his overnight case. The way he lines his belongings and counts the items inside borders on obsessive. He's not leaving to tour the ship for another three days and yet he insisted that this was something he needed to finish straight away.

Hoping to alleviate some of whatever has brewed between them, she moves lithely behind him and wraps her arms around his strong shoulders.

She feels him freeze. His eyes close, his breathing halts. She lays down first one kiss, then another and another, tracing the sensitive points along his shoulder blade through his shirt, hands snaking up where the bottom of the fabric meets his hipbones. For a moment, she thinks he is loosening, she thinks that he will turn and embrace her. She waits for him to return the caresses which she predicts will be playful at first and then become more passionate until it ends with her crying out in pleasure.

Like he used to.

But instead, in a hushed voice he says, "not now," and shrugs her off as he moves to fold a pair of uniform pants.

She leaves silently, with an ache in her chest she cannot define.

* * *

Walking on eggshells would take less care than the way they communicate with each other for the remainder of the afternoon and evening. But in the morning, with the rising of the sun, both seem to be resolved to start anew.

When she wakes he is preparing breakfast and afterwards, when she suggests it's time for the park, he offers his arm and they quietly stroll the path.

"I found a little spot for us to visit," she says, breaking the not-quite-awkward silence.

They've just rounded the corner of the pond. She's paused a moment, leaned against a tall tree and is digging in the bag she brings with her for some kernels of corn to throw to the ducks.

"Oh?"

"It's a little cabin by a lake, nothing fancy mind you."

He smiles slightly and takes a handful of feed then starts dolling it out. "And just where is this little, 'nothing fancy' spot of yours?"

"It's a surprise," she says with a sly grin slowly working its way upon her face.

He rolls his eyes. "Oh, lovely. Another surprise."

"I thought we could use some time away. You know, before we return to duty."

He dusts the grain from his hands and wraps them around her waist in exactly the way she had wanted him to the day before. "With you? Why would I want to get away with you?"

She laughs, relishes in the tension that is visibly dissipating as she falls back into him. "Because you love me. And you don't want to be without me, ever."

Her words cause him to stumble. She catches herself as he straightens and then he tugs his shirt. "No," he says quietly. "I don't."

"Chakotay, I was only teasing, I –"

"It's okay," he says, finally coming to his senses. "Just took me off-guard is all."

"Look," she takes his hand and guides him to sit at the base of the tree with her but he is stuck, feet glued in their place. Instead, she stands once again. "We haven't talked about this and I think -"

"I don't want to talk about it, Kathryn."

"Too bad. Chakotay, look at me."

He does as she asks. "I'm okay. I'm here and I love you, and I'm not going anywhere."

He looks to his shoes, he can feel the prickling sensation starting in the back of his throat. "I know."

She regards him then she shakes her head. "No, I don't think that you do. Something is bothering you, what is it?"

Their eyes meet and he finds himself powerless to hide his feelings any longer. "I thought I lost you. I thought…" he shakes his head and closes his eyes for a moment. "I mean, I've thought that a lot of times through the years, but this was different."

"Chakotay –"

"No. You wanted to talk about it, let's talk. We're going back out there in three weeks. For what? Why Kathryn? Can you tell me, please? Voyager is gone. Most of the crew have dispersed. We've been in the Delta Quadrant for a lifetime now."

"We're going because it's our duty."

"Our duty? We've _more_ than seen to our duty. Where is it written that we pledged our entire lives to Starfleet? Because last I checked the only thing I pledged my life to was you."

Now she's the one who is feeling uncomfortable in the back of her throat. Her eyes are beginning to well with the force of his words.

"We're doing it… because we love it. Don't we?"

The blank stare she is met with speaks volumes.

"Are you saying that all these years you've been out there because of me?"

He shakes his head. "No, not always. I'm an officer, I'm committed to exploration and peace as much as you are. But Kathryn, I think…. Enough is enough."

"Why?" she asks and her word is as much of a question to him as to herself. "Why now? What's changed?" she probes because it is the heat of the moment and she's not thinking clearly. But with the hurt set deep in his eyes she instantly regrets her words.

"What's changed?" he asks incredulously. Anger seeps into his voice. "I have an image, Kathryn, burned in my mind," he taps maniacally at his own head. "It's you. You're pinned under a bulkhead," he says and his words are spit across at her. Frantically, not pausing for breath he continues. "Crushed. I couldn't even get close enough to see if you were alive. The ship, it was crackling and breaking apart underneath me, people were shouting, there was smoke and fire and all I could hear was the sound of my own screaming but I wasn't screaming because I couldn't even get out a sound." He raises his hands to grip the sides of his face, trembling.

She's staring at him, unable to blink while he continues this stream-of-consciousness dump of his soul. She realizes he's not even looking at her anymore, he's just staring right through her.

"They were going to leave you. I couldn't, I couldn't let them leave you. I fought with the captain of the Sagan to keep their shields down. I threw the transporter officer from his station so that Harry could get a lock on you."

His breath is coming in pants now. She's frozen, unsure what to do, she wants to reach out but she is afraid. In a moment, his voice quiets.

"And then, you were just…. There. On the pad. The medics were so fast, you were gone in an instant." He finally brings her back into focus. "Three days you were in stasis. Three days and all I could do was stare at you through the window on the chamber. I couldn't touch you or hold your hand. I didn't even talk to you because I knew you wouldn't hear me."

Tears are beginning to fall freely down his cheeks but he doesn't bother to wipe them away.

"We make it to Earth….somehow. I don't remember the trip. They take you to the surgical center. You're there for hours and hours, Kathryn. The nurses they just keep coming in and out. Doctors too."

She reaches for his hand but he shies away.

"And when they're finally, finally finished fixing you. And I can finally touch you…." He hangs his head. "You're so…. so…."

"What Chakotay?" she asks softly.

"Covered. In wires. And tubes. And monitors. I couldn't even find a place to hold on to."

She has slowly inched her way closer to him. Her palm gently presses its way from his upper arm down his elbow and to his hand. Her fingers intertwine with his.

He looks at her, shamefully, she thinks, and then hangs his head.

"I just wanted it to be over."

"That's understandable," she offers quietly.

"No Kathryn," he says letting go of her grip. "You don't get it. I didn't want for you to be better. I just wished…. I wished I had left you on Voyager. I wished you were gone, so that neither of us would have been suffering anymore. I'd finally had enough of watching you die."

She admits to feeling taken aback, but she understands. In that moment, she too would have wanted his agony to be over with. "Chakotay, it's alright that you felt that way."

"No. It's not." And then, to her surprise, he grabs her by the shoulders and he looks at her with a fire in his eyes as he holds her at arms' length, clutching her as if she's the last good thing on Earth that he has to fight for. His eyes trace to his own bruising grip and he slowly releases her.

"I'm sorry, Kathryn," he says, preparing to bring himself out of the nightmare and back to reality. "I know you want to take me somewhere. Relaxing by a lake sounds…." He shakes his head. "I'm sure it's beautiful and the cabin's very nice. But I can't. I can't go there with you now."

She reaches out to touch his arm but he moves away. "I have a new ship I need to learn, personnel reports, and…. You should go and enjoy yourself. I…. I'm sorry." Then he turns and his feet are carrying him away, not along the path by which they came, but through the center of the park which is thickly wooded. Urgently, he tramples over branches, through the thicket.

"Chakotay, wait," she calls.

He pauses only for a second. But he won't face her. He can't. And so, he just keeps walking, faster and farther away.

* * *

He doesn't see her, or speak with her again before he leaves for Utopia Planitia. He is in and out of their apartment like a bandit and then he is on the next shuttle to leave Earth.

Later that evening, on approach to his new command, he sees Voyager at the far end of the shipyard. Her gaping wounds are a grim reminder of both his past onboard and the current state of his marriage. He refocuses his attention on the pristine new vessel his pilot is approaching.

 _What kind of times will this one see?_ he wonders. _How many people will walk onboard only to leave in a torpedo casing?_ He sits back in his seat and massages thumb and forefinger into his brow.

He boards La Recherche with the harshest of critical eyes. Even the sight of Harry Kim busily and adeptly performing his first officer duties with all of the exuberance of a first year cadet can't upturn Chakotay's grimace. Nothing will compare to Voyager, he's sure. But then, after a few hours on board, he's loathe to admit that he's impressed from stem to stern. He softens a bit, realizing that Kathryn will feel the same. And he knows just how happy this will make her.

The ship is for research and in addition to being shiny, spanking new, she's crammed with technology. He admits feeling just a little out of his element. She's not an Intrepid class, not a warship. In fact, she's not like anything he's ever seen, let alone Captained before. But, instead of being a protective element to the fleet, she will rely on the protection of others. The thought makes him even more nervous.

A well-informed Trill Lieutenant who will be his Chief Science Officer adeptly navigates them through the labs and explains in excruciating detail the intricacies of every piece of equipment.

He reminds himself that he doesn't need to know how all of this technology works, or even what most of it is used for. He need only command the vessel and keep its occupants safe.

That's all.

Upon entering the superbly equipped medical bay - which doubles as a xenobiology research lab - Chakotay's head begins to spin.

He recognizes that the medical supplies are there for the unlikely event of injury or illness. He hopes that maybe, just maybe, he won't end up spending days on end praying next to a biobed in this room.

But maybe.

He starts to feel dizzy. The walls are a bit too close.

"Thank you Lieutenant," he says abruptly, cutting off the man's diatribe on a DNA sequencer. "I think that's enough for right now."

The officer is clearly disappointed, but tries his best to hide it. "Yes, sir. We can visit the rest of the labs at your convenience. They're not completely finished yet anyway."

Chakotay nods and dismisses the Lieutenant. Once the officer is out of sight, he braces himself with one hand on the wall. He steadies his breathing. Then, as if in a fog, he tries to remember his way back to the bridge.

* * *

While he is gone, she goes to the cabin on the lake.

She walks the halls and sits on the deck.

She gazes at the stars from the private pier and watches their twinkling reflections in the water.

She tosses and turns in the empty bed.

She thinks about everything she has sacrificed and compromised and lived through for Starfleet.

She thinks about everything he has sacrificed and compromised and lived through for her.

And the next day she signs the paperwork to make the cabin _theirs._

* * *

"One last mission," she says to the attentive Admiral seated with his hands folded across the desk in front of her. "If I may make such a request, that is."

"Kathryn, with your service record you could request me to dance on the table."

She chuckles. "I'll pass on that."

"So, you want to end on a high note?"

"I do."

"And after your high note?"

"Then I'll grace your lecture halls as many times as you'll have me. But Jonah, I've made up my mind. I won't be going back out there again for another tour."

Palpine sits back in his chair and rubs the scruffy goatee that is greying on his chin. "We were planning to recall Admiral Jindou and send you back to the DQ."

"I know. But from what I've heard Jinny is doing well out there. If she wants the job, let her keep it."

"What about that husband of yours? He's got a brand new ship will take him back to the fleet for at least a year. He's onboard right now, is he not?"

"Yes. We need to talk about him too."

"To be honest," the man says shifting in his seat, "I was a bit surprised when he accepted the position."

His comment makes Kathryn pause her line of thinking. "Why is that?"

"He tendered a rather…. decisive resignation a few months ago. Of course, I wouldn't accept it until your situation had been resolved."

"He resigned?" The surprise is evident in her voice, and she wishes she could take it back. Pieces of what she missed from those two months continue to find their way into place.

"Not technically. I thought that's what he was going to do when I met with him a month ago. But he just apologized. Said he was under duress and asked that I forget about the whole thing. Which, of course, I didn't."

Kathryn bites her lip. _'I can't believe he wanted to resign. I can't believe he didn't tell me,'_ she thinks, but from the Admiral's expression she believes she may have said the words out loud. Quick flashes of conversations splay out before her and she realizes that her husband did tell her, through his actions and omissions and avoidances.

Palpine leans forward and the act brings her eyes up to his. "Kathryn. He thought you were going to die. We all did. It was a miracle they got you off that bridge, let alone in a condition where they could put you into stasis…."

She watches the man take a centering breath as if deciding whether to divulge a rather large secret. "You didn't hear this from me. But when I came to visit you at the hospital your husband's exact words were 'if by some miracle she lives, she will never step foot on board another starship. Not as long as she's married to me.'"

She nods blankly and thinks about how she had long ago made her peace with what duty requires. She made it thirty years ago when she sacrificed more than anyone should. But that was her, moving forward with her life. And this is him, trying to move forward with their life together. And now she just thanks God that she came to this decision without fully recognizing what was going on in his head. He was right, she knows now, enough is enough.

She sinks back into her chair. "Well," she says after things have sunk in. "I guess I've made the right choice then."

"It would appear so."

She shakes her head but keeps her mouth shut, though Palpine can, and quite obviously has been, reading her like a book.

"Don't judge him too harshly. He's seen a lot of bad happen to you through the years. Quite frankly, I'm surprised you lasted this long. If my own spouse had been amenable I would have been out there much longer myself."

"How is Rachel doing?" she asks, distractedly trying to chase away the image of Chakotay telling Palpine to take his job and shove it.

He shrugs. "She's fine. You should come for dinner; she's been asking about you."

"That would be nice," she says then in the same breath she takes them back to the point. "You'll find a place for Chakotay too?"

"The Tactical department will be overjoyed," he says with a smile. "As will Commander Kim. He's been itching for his own ship, thanks to you, he'll finally get one. And a very nice one at that." Then he extends his hand as he stands from his chair.

His grasp is firm and feels like closure.

"Consider yourselves officially off the front lines," he says. Then he pauses. "Except for that one last mission you requested. I have something in mind that should be perfectly safe, successful and satisfying."

She smiles. "Sounds like a great parting gift."

* * *

When he returns to the apartment he finds it eerily silent. He had hoped to find her home, but then he realizes she's probably buttoned up in meetings mulling over their next years' worth of mission plans. It's just as well, he wasn't exactly looking forward to the apology that he owes her.

As a last resort he calls for her, but his voice simply echoes down the empty hall.

In the kitchen he finds a note that says only, _'Meet me'_ and provides a set of coordinates. Next to the note is a keyring with a single, silver key.

He's tired - weary from the travelling and that pervasive sense of dread he keeps biting back – but he will do as she asks. He fills a glass of water at the sink and drinks it, then he palms the key and he's out the door once again.

He is unprepared, to say the least, for where he materializes. In the stress of the last days he had all but forgotten about the cabin by the lake she had wanted to share with him. But there it is, larger than life about thirty paces down a cobblestone path. He starts to approach the house, but is interrupted by the sound of humming emanating from around the side. He changes his direction and after a few steps he sees her, kneeling in dirt in a khaki colored frock that has been dotted with potting soil.

He pauses, considers her curiously and can't help the smile that comes onto his face at the sound of her out-of-tune melody.

"I thought you'd never get here," she says, turning her head to see him. Her hands are still doing their work of patting down soil and then she dusts them together before she stands.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm planting, what does it look like I'm doing?" She walks to him while he remains, hands at his sides unsure where they are or what exactly they are doing. She kisses him on the cheek while dirt falls onto his uniform.

He shakes his head. "Why?"

"I know, it's a late in the season, but with a little luck we'll still eke out a few tomatoes before the first frost," she says. She's still trying to dust the dirt off of his jacket, but is failing miserably.

"Kathryn…."

"Do you like it?" she asks bluntly.

"Do I like what?"

"This," she says, and she waves her arm around. His gaze follows her path. In his confusion he hadn't even noticed the pristine lake behind him. Sunlight shimmers off of its perfectly clear surface. A small pier juts into the water. He can't perceive another man-made thing for as far as the eye can see.

"It's beautiful Kathryn, I'm glad you decided to come."

"I've been here three days. The house has a few quirks and the pier needs a little shoring up but I figure you'll make quick work of it."

He simply stares back at her. Because until she says the words he can't quite accept what she is insinuating. He looks down at the key in his hand.

"It's a symbolic gesture, Chakotay," she says taking it from his palm. "It does work in the front door, but I'm not sure exactly who we'd be locking out. The deer maybe?"

"Are you saying…."

"I resigned."

His breath halts. "You what?"

"I retired us from active duty, Chakotay. We'll be visiting professors. It's something we've talked about before and I thought it was probably now or never."

"I don't understand. I thought you wanted La Recherche, I thought –"

"I realized you were right," she interrupts. "There's only one commitment in my life that I have to keep. There's only one I _want_ to keep. In ignoring your feelings I failed to honor you, and for that I'm sorry. I don't want there to be any doubt. I want this life with you. And I want it to be a long one."

"I don't know what to say," he finally manages.

"You don't have to say anything. But, you do have to help me," she says with a sly smile. "We may be off-duty but there's still work to be done." She bends down and picks up a metal watering can from the ground and all he can do is stand there. "Am I going to have to order you to go fill this for me?" she asks, feigning annoyance.

He reaches out to take the vessel from her hand but overshoots and instead grips her wrist. Pulling, dragging her close with every ounce of passion in his veins, he needs her. She squeals and throws her head back and he smothers her laugh with a kiss that is hard and full on the lips while the can clatters to the ground.

* * *

He is standing at the spot where the pier meets the rocky shoal, a cup of coffee in his hand. He can see her at the end, sitting with her legs dangling over the edge, bathed in moonlight and staring up at the perfectly clear night sky.

"So tell me, honestly. Do you like it here?" she asks, without turning around. "Because if you don't we can find somewhere else. It was rather spur-of-the-moment."

"I…" he begins. Then he pauses. He glances back to the cabin, regards the porch that wraps around the front, envisions two handmade chairs placed there. He sees the warm glow of light inside through the window, beyond which is the bed they have just shared. Then he looks upon the pristine lake as the night sounds of cicadas buzz through in the forest. "Yes. I like it here."

A broad smile crosses her face. "I thought you might."

"Speaking of which, where is _here_ exactly?" He sits down beside her, feet dangling too, just above the level of the water, and hands her the mug.

"Davis Lake, Oregon. We are citizens of the wildlife preserve. Population one hundred and twenty-two. Well, twenty-four, now." She cradles the mug in her hands.

He has a question he needs to ask, and he hopes it won't hurt her too badly. "What about your stars, Kathryn? What about exploring the great unknown?"

"Ah, my stars," she sighs and takes a lingering sip of the hot drink. "You know, I've decided I'll appreciate them more when they're not an obligation." She puts her hand on his thigh and he instinctively covers it with his own. "I'll enjoy them more from this pier. I'll study them, occasionally, from a shuttle with only you inside it." She turns slightly back to the house and gestures. "Looking out that window from our bed, I'll see them just fine."

She can hear his breath halt, his eyes begin to smile back at her.

"Besides," she finishes, "I've got enough of the great unknown to explore, right here with you."

He bows his head, sure that any words he were to add would be insufficient, and so he does the one thing he has wanted to do for as long as he can remember. He places a hand on her cheek, draws her close and kisses her like she's the most incredible adventure and the most important thing in the universe.

Because to him, she truly is.

* * *

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